Some Disassembly Required
by nice-day
Summary: An innocent seeming observation about his relationship with 18 prompts Krillin to take some rather... drastic action.
1. Default Chapter

I know I listed this as comedy/romance, but it tends more towards the former than the latter. Quite a lot more. I don't know whether that will matter much, but I felt I should say something. This story is broken into three chapters. The other two are complete and awaiting editing, so they should be up by the end of the week. Hopefully.

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ or any of the characters therein. Trust me, if I did, I'd know.

Enjoy!

----------

Krillin peered across the barroom to where Yamcha was leaning casually against the bar. He didn't know why he was looking. It wasn't any of his business and he knew how it was going to end. And yet he continued to look on, his attention held by some morbid curiosity as if he were watching a freight train rumbling towards a car stalled on the tracks.

Looking away for a moment, he stole a glance at Vegeta. The Saiyan was sat next to him, but obviously not too close, with his arms draped across the backrest of the bench and an ankle propped on his knee. He too had been staring intently at Yamcha. Then, remembering that Vegeta was none too keen on people staring at him, Krillin returned his attention to the bar.

Yamcha was still there, giving the dead horse what-for with all his might. But it was no use. The girl just wasn't interested, and was becoming visibly less interested with each word of enticement that purred from Yamcha's smirking mouth. Krillin was pretty sure he could make out some the things he was saying. Even he, who had lived so much of his life as a monk could tell it was all pretty standard, clichéd even. But from the look on the suitor's face it was evident that he thought he was bestowing lyrical praise of the highest order. He was totally oblivious. It was like watching a colour blind man trying to defuse a bomb.

"Just put him out of his misery already," Krillin cringed as Yamcha made a particularly trite comment about the young lady's lucid-blue eyes.

The tension and inevitability of it was all just too much.

"You say something?" Vegeta said abruptly.

"Who, me," Krillin replied. "No, I didn't say anything."

Vegeta grunted. He wasn't really interested in what Krillin had to say anyway.

Krillin looked down at his feet, which barely touched the grimy, slightly sticky barroom floor. He had come over a little self conscious again. The feeling had stemmed from being somewhat over dressed for the occasion, what with sporting an immaculate white suit and shirt, and a black tie. Of course it had been Vegeta, who had shown up in his usual ensemble of blue sweat pants and t-shirt that had derived the most amusement from his appearance, drawing some rather unwelcome comparisons with Tattoo from Fantasy Island. The calls of "Boss, boss! The plane, the plane!" had only served to compound his misery.

But failed propositions and Vegeta's taste for cult television aside, the night was passing off fairly quietly. The bar wasn't too crowded, and the ambient music was quite agreeable. The company was a little weird, but these were unfamiliar surroundings so the familiarity of even Vegeta's snarling features was welcome. And it was getting late, so he would be justified in excusing himself soon enough.

A loud smack resonated across the room.

Krillin looked up to see an attractive young lady storming towards the door, and a bemused Yamcha rubbing his left cheek.

He should have cut the blue wire.

Vegeta gave a satisfied chuckle. "Excellent," he said. "It's like he was born to be slapped around!"

Yamcha composed himself, and strode back over with a false assuredness.

"You okay?" Krillin asked having noticed the burning red hand print that adorned his friend's face.

"Yeah, I'm okay," smiled Yamcha. "Just a little misunderstanding, that's all."

"I'd say she understood you just fine," Vegeta grinned. "And she definitely didn't miss."

"Yeah, real funny Vegeta," Yamcha sneered, the embarrassed reddening of his cheeks almost swallowing up his latest battle scar.

Vegeta continued to smile wickedly, and held eye contact with Yamcha as if to see whether or not he was going to do anything about it. He didn't however, and Vegeta was soon taken by one of his princely mood swings as his look of amusement quickly dissolved into one of boredom.

"Hey, where are _you_ going?" Yamcha asked as Vegeta raised himself to his feet.

"I got what I came here to see," he answered abruptly.

With that, he dropped his gloved hands into his pockets and made for the door.

"Bye, Vegeta," Krillin called after him. He got no reply.

As he left, Vegeta bumped shoulders with a burly pool player, sending him flying across the table, and then vanished into the night. A couple of the pool player's fellow sharks gave chase, but this was of little concern to Krillin. Likely they would be back soon, though not via the same portal through which they had left.

"Ah, good riddance," Yamcha said having made sure that Vegeta was out of earshot. "He was cramping my style anyway. Now the real party can start, right buddy?"

Krillin grimaced slightly. Yamcha was a little bit drunk, and it made Krillin uncomfortable and rather sad to see him that way.

Yamcha had given up fighting after the somewhat picric victory that was the Cell games. So far he hadn't been handling retirement so well. There weren't too many job opportunities out there for an ex-bandit/martial artist/superhero and, though Krillin hadn't the nerve to point it out to him, he had never really got over the gory break-up with Bulma. Nonetheless, Krillin had to applaud Yamcha's sportsmanship in tolerating Vegeta as he did, under the circumstances.

"Actually," Krillin started. "I think I should probably..."

"That's the spirit!" beamed Yamcha, wrapping a firm arm around his comrade. "After all, the night's still young, right?"

"Right," Krillin sighed.

Yamcha smiled and stared at Krillin for a little longer than the diminutive fighter was comfortable with before looking up and scanning the near deserted barroom.

"Hey," he said after a moment. "Look over there."

Krillin looked to the far corner of the room, to the table at which Yamcha was pointing none too subtly. There was sat yet another attractive young woman, sipping a clear drink through a straw. Her green eyes darted away as they met with his.

"You see her?" Yamcha asked.

"Yeah, what about her?" said Krillin with a deliberate coolness.

"She is totally checking you out, Krillin!"

Krillin looked back. Again he caught her looking. This time, her eyes lingered as she brushed a few strands of black hair behind her right ear.

"You should go over there," Yamcha goaded.

"No, I... I don't think so."

"Come on Krillin, look at her. She's hot, and she digs you. What else could you possible want?"

Suddenly, the reasons behind Yamcha's success rate with the ladies had become all too clear.

"No, I can't," Krillin declined.

"Sure you can."

"No, Yamcha. I can't."

"Why not?"

Krillin blushed, and rubbed the back of his head.

"Well, you know..."

"What... oh Krillin, you're not still sweet on that android are you?" Yamcha sighed.

"Her name's 18, and I am not sweet on her. We're going out."

"You are not."

"Are too."

"Are not."

"Are too!"

"Krillin, you are not _going out_ with Android 18."

"Oh yeah?" Krillin snapped, "Well, how come she agreed to come live me and Master Roshi?"

"For geez sake Krillin, the only reason she agreed to stay with you is because Dende's lookout is too draughty, Bulma's place is full of 'disgusting animals' and Chi Chi won't have psychotic killing machines in the house. And besides, wouldn't you rather have a _real_ woman?"

Krillin leapt out of his seat. "She _is_ a real woman!" he yelled.

The girl in the corner got up and left... quite quickly.

"Woah, Krillin," Yamcha said, raising his hands defensively. "I'm sorry. Maybe that _was_ a little out of line." He placed a hand on Krillin's shoulder and gently manoeuvred him back onto the bench. Looking out across the bar at the staring clientele he said, "Don't worry. Everything's fine. Just a little too much lemonade is all."

"Don't talk about my girlfriend like that," Krillin demanded a little more evenly, "She's as real as any of us."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. All I'm saying is, well, how well do you know her? I mean, _really_ know her. You've got to remember, she started out as a bad guy."

"So did you."

Yamcha frowned. "That's not the point. The point is how can you say you have a real relationship when you hardly know the girl you're going out with?"

Krillin's expression softened and he turned to look out across the room. He hadn't thought of that.

Yamcha hiccupped. "I'm gonna get another drink. You want anything?"

Krillin didn't reply, and continued to stare blankly across the room.

"Okay then," Yamcha shrugged and left for the bar once more.

Krillin sat immersed in thought; and in the damp patch where Yamcha had spilled his beer earlier. The idea that he didn't know 18 as well as he should was troubling him deeply, all the more so because the more he thought about it, the more he realised it was true. In fact so distracting was this idea that Krillin didn't even notice the two pool players as they came crashing in through the plate glass window with their pool cues protruding from some rather unnatural places.

Krillin resolved there and then that he would get to know 18 better... by any means necessary.

----------

By any means necessary; the words had given Krillin comfort at the time, but now that he sat atop the roof of Kame House staring down at the object of his affections, he had come to realise he had nothing to back them up.

As it stood, Yamcha was half right. Krillin technically wasn't 'going out' with Android 18. The arrangement they had was more probationary than anything else. Krillin had suspected at the outset that 18 had only agreed to this tentative relationship as a means to stop him from following her around like a lost puppy, but he had chosen not to look the gift horse in the mouth. Furthermore, he was pretty sure that from this improved position, he could really start to work those famous Krillin moves; i.e. the big sad eyes and whiney, pleading voice.

The relationship was still tenuous however, and as such Krillin was unwilling to risk probing into 18's past too keenly. And so he was left with a personal vow that he had no idea how to keep.

18 skipped another stone. Krillin watched as it raced across the azure waters until it became lost near the horizon. Again she skipped a stone, the grace of her action belying the terrifying power behind it. She was devastatingly beautiful, and beautifully devastating; perhaps it was this unique combination of qualities that had drawn Krillin to her in the first place. It certainly represented the extent of his knowledge about her.

Krillin was entranced by 18. So much so that he scarcely heard a word as she addressed him.

"What are you looking at?" she asked indignantly.

"I do..." Krillin replied from his fantasy world.

"You do what?"

"I do... I do?" The 10 15 train from dreamland pulled into reality, and Krillin disembarked. "Oh, I do. I do... uh... like your stone-throwing technique. I think you almost hit a cruise liner with that one." He followed this poor cover up with a nervous titter.

18's eyes narrowed. "Right," she said, then turned and raised a hand to skim yet another of the stones she had collected.

"Real smooth, Krillin," the little fighter rasped at himself.

18 skimmed the stone, and then plucked another from her left hand. However, just as she was about to hurl it into oblivion she stopped. Wincing slightly, she dropped the remaining stones and raised a hand to her left shoulder.

Taken with concern, Krillin leapt from the roof and dropped to the sand below.

"Are you alright?" he asked frantically as he rushed to 18's side.

18 paused tending to her shoulder, and looked down upon Krillin with an expression that the fighter was just about able to read as a mixture of surprise, confusion and contempt.

"It's nothing," she replied finally. "It's probably just a system glitch."

"A glitch?" Krillin echoed in horror as his mind filled with images of the 'glitches' suffered by a number of Dr Briefs' ill-fated inventions. Or, as the man himself put it, 'rapid spontaneous disassemblies'. "That doesn't look like nothing to me. Perhaps you should go and see Bulma about it."

"I'll be fine," 18 assured him sternly. "And besides, what do you care?"

"I care because you're my girlfriend, remember. Well, on a probationary basis anyway."

18 broke eye contact with Krillin. "Oh, right," she said. "Well your concern is unnecessary. There's nothing wrong with me." With that, she turned to walk away.

Suddenly there was a sound of metallic grinding, and 18 let out a muffled grunt of pain.

"Nothing wrong, huh?" said Krillin. "Sounds to me like you need go and see Bulma right away. She should be able to help. I'm pretty sure she still has the blueprints for Android 17 lying around some..." Krillin cut himself off.

He still wasn't sure just how sensitive a subject 18's late sibling was; this was yet another bit of intelligence he lacked. The comment passed undisputed however, and 18 made her way back to Kame House.

"Perhaps I do need some maintenance," she said as she walked away.

Feeling a little braver, Krillin called after her, "I think that'd be a good idea. Dr Krillin knows best!"

18 stopped, causing Krillin to freeze as he feared he may have overstepped the mark... again. She turned her head and stared pensively toward the ground as if trying to find the right words with which to dress him down.

Finally, she spoke. "Thank you... for your concern."

Krillin stood dumbstruck for a moment before realising that 18 was becoming impatient for a response.

"Uh, no problem," he said.

18 walked the rest of the way to the house and disappeared through the door. As soon as she was gone, Krillin made his feelings known.

"Yes!"

-----------

Krillin looked down the path towards the collection of towering domes that was Capsule Corp. The smallest of these domes lay directly ahead - the home of the extended Briefs family, and his and 18's destination.

He looked up at 18, who was stood at his side. Krillin had been rather surprised when 18 had asked for him to accompany her. Of course, she had voiced her request in the most grudging manner possible, but Krillin was quite sure she really did want him there. His theory had been given further credence by the fact that now they had arrived, 18 did not set off down the path to the front door, but instead just stood and stared intensely at the profusion of pastel-coloured domes ahead. If he didn't know better, Krillin would have thought 18 was a little scared. Perhaps this was a clue to her past life. Maybe she had once been afraid of going to the dentist, or had a latent fear of needles.

Again, Krillin didn't want to jeopardise his position by voicing his wild speculations. Instead, he chose a little gentle goading.

"So uh, are you coming?" he asked, placing a foot forwards.

18 shot him and angry glance, causing him to rapidly retract the foot.

"Okay, we're waiting here then," He conceded.

So there they stood, staring at the domes. Staring. Staring. Staring some more.

Just as Krillin thought he would have to set up camp for the night, a voice rang out across the sun bathed lawn. "Yoo-hoo! Krillin! Over here, Krillin dear!"

Krillin looked across the garden to see Bulma's mother, Mrs Briefs, peering round the side of the building through unnaturally smiling eyes.

"Oh, hey there Mrs Briefs!" Krillin called back. "It's good to see you!"

"It's good to see you too, dear," she replied, though Krillin was sceptical as to whether she could see anything at all. "Why are you standing all the way over there? Come on over and have some lemonade with us."

"Be right there," said Krillin. He turned to 18. "So, are you gonna come and get some lemonade? You must be as parched as I am."

Another angry glance.

"Guess not. Well, you just come on over when you're ready."

With that, Krillin made his way across the garden, casting the occasional concerned glance over his shoulder at 18, who remained rooted to the spot, until she disappeared out of view behind the house.

To the rear of the house Krillin found Bulma and Dr Briefs sat at a garden table, with Mrs Briefs tending to their empty glasses and the boisterous toddler Trunks galloping around nearby, chasing butterflies with all the menacing intent one might come to expect from a Saiyan.

"Hi Krillin," Bulma said cheerfully. "Come on over here and join us." She gestured to an empty chair.

"Thanks." Krillin replied uncertainly, and walked over to take a seat.

No sooner had he done so, he found a full glass of lemonade stood before him.

"So, to what do we owe the pleasure," Dr Briefs asked as he held up his glass for Scratch to lap from.

"Um, I kinda wanted to ask a favour," replied Krillin, staring awkwardly into his lap. "I mean, if that's okay."

"Sure, Krillin," said Bulma. "What can we do for you?"

Krillin began to fidget.

"Well, it's not really me. It's 18."

"Well, where she?" Bulma asked.

"I think she's still out front. She was a bit... uh... apprehensive," Krillin said, choosing his words carefully.

"Oh, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about," Dr Briefs reassured him. "Now tell me, what seems to be the trouble?"

"Well, she seems to be having some problems. She tried to tell me what she thought it might be on the way over here, but I didn't really understand what she was talking about."

"O-o-o-h," said Dr Briefs knowingly. "_Those_ kinds of problems, huh? Say, maybe 18 should come back here and talk to Bulma and her mother while us guys go some place else."

Krillin frowned quizzically. "What?" Then he realised what the aged inventor was getting at. "No, no, not _those_ kinds of problems. I mean technology stuff."

"Oh, right." Dr Briefs said, blushing with embarrassment.

"Sure, we can help with that," said Bulma. "But 18 will have to come back here and tell us what's wrong first."

"I don't know about that. To be honest she seemed a bit nervous, scared even."

"Who seemed scared?" there came a stern voice.

Krillin looked over his shoulder, and then toppled from his chair with fright to see 18 stood right behind him.

"Hi 18," Bulma smiled. "Krillin was just telling us you were having problems with some of your systems. You know, it shouldn't be a problem for us to fix you up. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"I'm not afraid," 18 replied, casting a disdainful glare down at a prostrate Krillin.

"Well then, take a seat young lady and tell us what seems to be the problem," said Dr Briefs.

18 pulled up a seat - the seat in which Krillin had been sitting - and almost immediately, a fourth glass of lemonade appeared on the table.

Krillin thought it best if he remained where he was for now, for the sake of his health.

What ensued was a conversation that Krillin could ill understand, filled with words like servo, semiconductor and Heisenberg compensators, and punctuated by Mrs Briefs offering to refill glasses and fetch cakes and biscuits. Eventually the torrent of techno-babble ebbed, and Krillin hauled himself to his feet.

"To be honest," said Bulma. "I kind of expected something like this to happen. You must have suffered some pretty serious wear and tear during that whole Cell thing alone. In fact Vegeta told me that you and he once went a couple of rounds. I hope he wasn't too hard on you."

18 stared back at Bulma with something like confusion.

Krillin gave a knowing smirk. He had to remember to ask Bulma what version of the story she'd been given.

"Well, I'd recommend a complete systems overhaul," said Dr Briefs.

Krillin spotted that same look on 18's face that she had had when she first arrived at Capsule Corp.

"Gee, are you sure about that Dad," asked Bulma. "It would mean an almost complete dismantling of 18's infrastructure."

18's expression lost a little of its subtlety.

"Oh sure," he smiled. "It won't be hard. We can use my new laser deconstruction system. It needs a bit of a test run."

A little bit more subtlety left 18's face.

"That's a little risky, Dad. I think we should try the atomic..."

"Okay," Krillin interjected loudly so as to spare 18 any further discomfort. "Maybe we should discuss the details a little later."

"Yeah, you're right," Bulma conceded. "We shouldn't be talking shop on a weekend. Still, it's pretty exciting to have this opportunity, 18."

"It is," 18 replied, her voice a mixture of curiosity and mild concern.

"Oh sure," Bulma enthused. "It's not every day a gal gets to look around inside a state-of-the-art android. In fact with the right equipment and Dr Gero's blueprints, I could probably get to know you better than you know yourself."

This, alas, gave Krillin an idea. It was just the opportunity he had been looking for.

"Say guys," he said. "Why don't I do it?"

A deadly silence fell upon the garden, broken only by Mrs Briefs' quiet utterance. "Oh my..."

Then, after a short time, Bulma began to laugh.

"Hey, that's pretty funny Krillin," she chuckled. "You really had us going there for a second."

"Yes,"18 sneered. "Very funny."

Krillin was dismayed by their reaction, as it would only make things more difficult.

"No you guys, I'm serious," he pleaded.

"Oh come now young man, don't be silly," Dr Briefs chortled. "This kind of work requires years of experience and state-of-the-art technology, not to mention degrees in each of the major sciences and a diploma in interior decorating."

"Yeah, Krillin," added Bulma. "You could end up doing more harm than good."

"Oh come one, guys," Krillin begged. "I promise I'll be careful." He then turned to 18, who's expression said far more than the arguments of the others. "All I want is a chance to find out a little more about you. Is that so much to ask?"

"I'm sorry, Krillin," Bulma said having adopted a more serious tone. "But that's out the question."

"Yes, it would just be too risky for a layperson to attempt something like that," Dr Briefs concurred. "It would be foolhardy."

Krillin's head sank into his shoulders, and his heart into his chest.

"I think it's sweet," there came a sympathetic voice.

Krillin looked up. It was Mrs Briefs. Bulma's unfeasibly youthful mother placed her tray of lemonade and glasses upon the table and stated her case. "All Krillin wants is to know a little bit more about his young lady friend, and I for one think that's very sweet. It would be nice if all men were so sensitive and considerate."

Dr Briefs' face reddened slightly.

"We appreciate the sentiment Mom," said Bulma. "But the fact is the whole idea is just plain crazy. And besides, I hardly think it makes for a healthy relationship when a man dismembers his girlfriend."

"Oh nonsense, dear," Mrs Briefs replied. "You and Vegeta have a lovely relationship, and he threatens to dismember you all the time."

"That's not the same thing, Mother," Bulma snapped. "At least he never actually does it!"

"Maybe so, but I still think Krillin deserves a chance. But then, that's not for any of us to say. The decision should be18's." Mrs Briefs smiled down disarmingly upon the android. "What would _you_ like to do, dear?"

18 looked down into her lap. This wasn't the first time she had found her fate in the hands of others and now, as before, she seemed to have little idea of how to deal with the situation. She didn't do helplessness.

"Come on 18," Krillin said gently. "It won't take long, and I'll have Bulma here to help me. And besides, I think it'll be good for... y'know... us. Wha'd'y'say, huh?"

Big, sad eyes: Check.

Whiney, pleading voice: Check.

"Pleeeeeaaaaase..."

18's furrowed brow twitched beneath the expectant gaze of the four onlookers as she pondered this somewhat peculiar dilemma. After some silent deliberation, she gave her answer. "Fine. But only on one condition."

"Name it," Krillin enthused.

"You have to quit bothering me. If I hear that whiney, pleading voice one more time _you'll_ be the one with the dismantled infrastructure."

Krillin backed off slightly.

"Oh, okay," he said meekly. "No more pleading. Got it."

"Well then, I guess it's settled," Bulma sighed, rising from her chair. "Though I can't say I think this is a good idea. Come on, I suppose I'd better take you to the lab."

"Thanks Bulma," Krillin grinned.

18 said nothing. She just stood up and followed as Bulma made for one of the larger domes to the rear of the Briefs' sizeable back yard. Her look was one of forced aloofness, the expression of one who was about to make a sacrifice for the greater good.

Just as Krillin was passing by Dr Briefs, the wizened scientist placed a staying hand on his shoulder.

"Good luck son," he said gravely. "You're going to need it."

"Hey, don't worry doc," said Krillin, still buoyant from his little victory. "It's not like I'm going to fight Cell or anything. All I have to do is follow the blueprints and everything will be fine."

Dr Briefs' brow furrowed. "I wasn't talking about the repairs."

Krillin stared puzzled into the doctor's eyes awaiting some explanation, but none came. Dr Briefs just gave a nod and a knowing grunt, and allowed Krillin to go on his way with that ominous warning still ringing in his ears.

Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all...


	2. Chapter 2

And so, we come to the imaginatively named"chapter 2". Bet you can't guess what the next part is called...

----------

Bulma pressed the button on the wall of the dome, and the large metal door was drawn up into the masonry with a mechanised whirr.

"Well, here we are," she said, stepping across the threshold.

Her entry into the room was greeted by the buzz of the bar lights as they were activated automatically. This was followed by the loud hum of a computer cooling fan and the crackle of the great monitor unit that dominated the wall opposite.

"This is the main cybernetics lab," Bulma explained.

"Wow," Krillin uttered in quiet awe at his surroundings.

Every detail seemed to have been pulled from a science fiction movie, from the rows of blinking consoles that lined the walls, to the complex and imposing machinery that was suspended from the ceiling above a metal bed at the heart of the room.

"So this was the facility that was used to repair Android 16?" 18 asked.

"The very same," Bulma replied. "It's the best facility in the world for this sort of work." Then she sighed, and added, "In the right hands, anyway."

Krillin frowned at Bulma's backhanded comment. It was clear that she still strongly disapproved of what was happening, but Krillin was willing to let her comment pass. He _was_ getting his way after all.

Clasping his hands behind his back, he left Bulma and 18 to discuss some of the nuances of the procedure that was to follow and made an inspection of some of the computer equipment that was stood around the walls of the room. Each seemed more complicated and impressive than the last, towering over the fighter and glaring down upon him with rows of bright, blinking eyes.

"Hey Krillin," Bulma called. "You know, you really should be listening to this."

Krillin wasn't listening. Craning his neck, he examined one of the more-gaudy computer displays.

"This place is really something," Krillin mused. "Say, what does this button do?"

Krillin reached for a large, yellow button that was winking at him invitingly.

"Don't touch that!" Bulma yelled.

Krillin's finger stopped millimetres from the button. "Why? Is it dangerous or something?"

"Yes, it's dangerous," Bulma replied indignantly. "That is, unless you're getting tired of living life with all four of your limbs."

"Nyeuhhh!" Krillin whipped his hand away from the console, and slowly backed off.

Bulma sighed wearily, and turned to 18.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" she asked.

Krillin furrowed his brow in annoyance. Bulma, it seemed, was still intent on torpedoing his efforts to get closer to 18. He wasn't going to give up without a fight however. He had squared up to more powerful foes than her, even if they hadn't been quite as scary.

"If you don't want to go through with it, that's okay with me," Krillin sighed melodramatically. "I guess I'll just have to nurse you back to health the old fashioned way, even if it will take _a lot _longer."

18's eyes widened.

"Oh, don't listen to him," Bulma said, waving away Krillin's lament like a tennis player returning a weak service. "My Dad and I would be only too happy to perform the procedure."

18 opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off as Krillin unleashed his return. "Don't listen to _her_, 18," he said, darting in front of his opponent. "Who better to look after you than your own boyfriend?"

"This isn't just some common cold, Krillin! 18 has a fracture in her left bilateral servo unit. The whole thing needs to be replaced."

"Oh come on, Bulma. How hard could it possibly be to replace a left biblical service unit?"

"It's a left bilateral… agh, this is ridiculous. You can't expect a total layperson to be able to perform this operation with a spanner and an instruction manual."

"I wasn't gonna use a spanner!"

"Then what's that behind your back?"

Krillin's face reddened and he dropped the spanner to the ground. He really had to learn not to fiddle with things he found lying around.

18's eyes moved back to Bulma in anticipation of the winning shot.

"Now why don't you just go home and leave this to the professionals?"

Krillin, all but defeated, looked down to his feet. Then, out of nowhere came his searing reply. With eyes wide and dewy, and bottom lip quivering, he looked straight at 18.

"Please?"

The look of horror that spread across 18's face looked set to peel the synthetic flesh from her metal infrastructure.

"Okay," she relented, averting her eyes. "You can perform the repairs. Just... stop _looking_ at me."

Krillin smirked slyly. Game, set and match.

"You CANNOT be serious," Bulma cried, then folded her arms and gave a grudging huff. "Okay, fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"Hey, don't sweat it Bulma," said Krillin. "Everything will be just fine, right 18?"

There was no response.

Krillin looked up at his girlfriend, only to find her staring vacantly into space. "18?"

Bulma came over to investigate for herself.

"Interesting," she said as she waved a hand in front of 18's blank face. "It looks like she's put herself in standby mode."

"Standby mode," echoed Krillin, giving the android a tentative prod in the arm. "Why would she do that?"

"Gee, I have no idea," Bulma replied sardonically. "Come on Krillin, we'd better get her up on the table." With that Bulma placed her hands on 18's shoulders and gently leaned her forwards.

Krillin trotted around to 18's feet and carefully pulled them up from the floor. The task was made easier by the fact that 18's body had seized up completely when she had entered standby mode - it was like lifting a two hundred pound plank of wood.

"Say, Krillin," Bulma hissed through grimacing teeth. "When this is all over, maybe you should tell 18 to cut down on the motor oil."

Krillin was impressed. In one sentence, Bulma had insulted his girlfriend's weight and nature, _and_ had suggested that he commit suicide.

After some grunting, sweating and swearing, Bulma finally manoeuvred her end of the android onto the table at the centre of the room. Krillin did likewise. As he looked into Bulma's moist, reddened face, he was reminded of the benefits of ki enhanced strength.

"Okay," Bulma sighed after regaining her breath. "I think we're ready to go." With that, she placed her hand beneath the edge of the table and pressed a hidden button.

A whirring sound began to emanate from the table, and then two arced consoles emerged from its sides. The panels slowly moved over 18's petrified body, stopping about a couple of feet short of one another. There was a brief pause followed by a sudden fizz as a holographic image leapt into the space between the consoles. The flickering, yellow-tinged display depicted a maze of labelled pathways and conduits, doubtless the incomprehensibly complex innards of the prostrate android.

"This," Bulma beamed proudly. "Is the Self-Maintaining Automatic Semi-Human Endoframe Reconstitutor."

Krillin cocked an eye brow. "Huh?"

"The Self-Moderating Automatic Semi-Human Endoframe Reconstitutor," Bulma repeated. "But we call her the SMASHER for short."

Krillin gave an almost inaudible whine.

"My dad and I built her specifically to work on advanced cybernetics. It took years of labour and almost the whole annual turnover of Capsule Corp. to bring this beauty to life. It's totally, completely and utterly irreplaceable."

"Oh," Krillin said. He suspected this monologue was a last ditch attempt to unnerve him from his task. It was working.

"But I'm sure you don't want to hear about any of that," Bulma remarked accurately. "Let me show you how to fire her up." She walked up to one of the consoles and leaned up against it. With a speed that even Krillin's well-trained eye could scarcely track Bulma keyed a number of impossibly complex commands into a glowing keypad, and then watched as a stream of information raced across an adjacent screen. "Well, that should do it," she said after a time. "All you need to do now is press the red button." Bulma gestured to the offending button that lay at the heart of the table console.

"And, er, then what?" Krillin asked.

"And then the machine will start."

"The machine will start what?"

"The machine will start taking 18 apart."

"What?!" barked Krillin, but his exclamation fell upon deaf ears.

"Of course once the process is finished, you'll be on your own with the repairs," Bulma said as she made her way to the door. Suddenly, she seemed to be taking some perverse pleasure in watching Krillin squirm. "Dr Gero's blueprints are in that draw over there. And remember, me and my dad will be here if you need any help." With that Bulma disappeared out of the lab. The door dropped down behind her, and she was gone.

Krillin stood, teeth gritted and heart pounding, staring into the abyss of a blind panic. Though he had often daydreamed of single-handedly dismantling one of the Z-fighters' most powerful enemies, this hadn't been exactly what he had in mind. As far as he had been concerned, all that had been required was a quick procedure to fix a minor problem – an easy means by which to gain 18's trust. But nobody had said anything about completely dismantling her. Or if they had, Krillin either hadn't been listening or just hadn't understood. The more he thought about it, the more overwhelming it was.

"Who am I kidding?" he muttered to himself. "I can't do this." With that, he took a step towards the door.

Then he stopped. In a flash of realisation, he could see what was going on. Bulma's apparent change of heart; her enthusiasm to reveal the extent of the work put into the machinery; the unfortunate and blatantly contrived acronym; it had all been aimed at deterring him from his mission. Doubtless it was all just one great work of fiction designed to throw him off, and in reality the whole process would be quite straight forward, as long as he followed the blueprints.

Krillin didn't know what Bulma's problem was, but she wasn't fooling anybody.

"Nice try Bulma," he muttered, and turned back to the table where 18 lay and approached one of the consoles. The start button was still flashing, beckoning Krillin to set off down a path from which there could be no turning back.

Before he could draw another breath he thrust his palm down upon the button. The button stopped flashing, and an eerie silence descended over the room. Suddenly there was a loud clunk, and then a massive apparatus began to descend from the ceiling above 18. Krillin backed off instinctively as the great forest of mechanical arms and laser-tipped spires, capped by a thick bramble of cables descended to within a couple of feet of the android. The process was about to begin.

Now there really was no turning back. And all the better, Krillin assured himself. This had been what he wanted after all. He _would_ get to know 18 better, if it took three hours, three days, or three years.

----------

It had been three hours - exactly how long it had taken to Krillin to overcome his bashfulness and relieve 18 of her clothing. Or at least, what was left of her clothing. Good old SMASHER had been somewhat indiscriminate about what she had dismembered when she had dismembered it.

Again Krillin was confronted with the theme of daydreams inaccurately realised.

Nonetheless, now that the noisy business of the dismantling had been completed he was free to set to his task. If only he could work out what that was. In his hands Krillin held Dr Gero's original blueprints for android 17. Unfortunately, he had only begun to realise now that they would only be useful if 18 and 17 were of an identical design. And if he could work out which way up they went.

Krillin turned the sprawling schematic through ninety degrees for a fourth time, bringing it back to where it had started.

"Oh, man," Krillin whined despairingly. "This is nuts. I can't read this."

So far, all he had been able to recognise were the copyright information and a faded coffee stain. Everything else made about as much sense as one of Goku's custom pizza toppings, and it was starting to make him feel just as sick.

Krillin scoured the plans for a starting point. After some moments, he found something comprehensible.

"In case of fault, contact manufacturer. Any tampering with the product will void the warranty... oh." Krillin looked across at the fruit of his tampering. "Guess I've burned that bridge, huh?" With a forlorn sigh, Krillin set back to making sense of the blueprints.

After a few minutes of squinting and muttering, Krillin's concentration was broken by the sound of the lab door rolling up. Looking up he was almost blinded by the sunlight that streamed into the relatively murky lab. There was stood Bulma, surrounded by radiant light and shaking her head disapprovingly like the angel of condescension.

Krillin's eyes narrowed. He knew what was coming.

"Hello Bulma," he said coolly.

Bulma ignored this tepid greeting. "I see you haven't made much progress," she observed as she strode into the lab, mug of coffee in hand. She stepped up to the table where much of 18's dismantled body lay and leaned over to inspect the damage. As she did so, she held out the steaming mug of coffee towards Krillin. "Still, I suppose you're a little further along than I expected. A least you managed to get her clothes off." Bulma glanced up into space. "Never thought I'd hear myself say that," she muttered.

Krillin didn't catch that less than subtle snipe. He was too busy being surprised by Bulma's peace offering. Slowly he reached out for the big, warm, inviting mug of coffee. Then, just as he could feel the warmth radiating into the tips of his fingers, his prize was whipped from his grasp.

Bulma took a long, savouring sip of her coffee. "Mmmmm," she purred.

Krillin's mouth fell open, and a tear welled up in his eye.

"So, do you need any help?" asked Bulma. "You know, I could give you some advice that would really speed things up."

"No, thank you," Krillin said indignantly. "It just so happens I want to take my time over this."

Bulma cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, is that right?"

"Yes," Krillin replied, and closed his eyes as he adopted a feigned tone of self assuredness. "At the moment I'm still in the preliminary stages. You know, making notes and diagrams, and technical stuff like that." He gestured to a note pad that lay open on the table beside 18's disembodied head.

Bulma picked it up and examined the first page. All she found were couple of illegible doodles and an incomplete game of tic-tac-toe. "Notes and diagrams, huh?" she drawled.

"I said it was preliminary," said Krillin.

Then, to Krillin's horror, she turned the page. There, inscribed so strongly upon the paper that it had cut through it in places was a crude caricature of Bulma. The portrait possessed a pair of angry, crossed eyes, a set of bat-like wings and a serpentine tail, and was captioned 'The Eternal Dragon'. Bulma stared at the drawing for a moment. "Krillin," she said, finally. "This is the worst picture of Shenron I've ever seen."

Krillin breathed a sigh of relief. His complete lack of artistic talent had just saved his life.

"Listen Krillin, I'm all for you trying to help out 18," Bulma said, placing the pad on the table. "But if you're just gonna screw around then I'm taking over this project myself."

"No!" Krillin barked in protest.

"I'm sorry, Krillin. But having this lab running is a drain on resources, and I can't allow it to carry on if things aren't getting done."

"But things are getting done. Well, things are about to get done. That is, they were right before you got here." Krillin calmed himself, and cleared his throat. "As a matter of fact, I was just about to commence the procedure when you arrived."

"Really?" Bulma chortled.

Krillin didn't appreciate the patronising look of amusement he was getting. He half expected Bulma to follow up with 'Aw, he thinks he's people'.

"Yes really. So, if you don't mind." With that, Krillin trotted over to Bulma, placed both hands firmly against her back and began to push her towards the door.

"Hey!" Bulma barked as her piping hot coffee almost leapt from its mug. "What do you think you're doing? This is _my_ lab, remember?"

"And this is _my_ project," Krillin replied.

Bulma stepped clear of Krillin's hands. "Alright, fine! But if you run in to trouble, don't come crying to me. You're on your own." With that Bulma stormed out of the lab, mumbling expletives as she went. The door closed behind her, and Krillin was left alone once again... sort of.

"Geez, I thought she'd never leave," Krillin sighed.

Though he felt a measure of relief at Bulma's departure, the gravity of her words had not been lost on him. He _was_ on his own now. But this only served to galvanise his determination to get the job done.

Krillin knelt, and lifted a screw driver from the floor. He looked at it for a moment, then took a deep breath and slowly approached 18.

----------

Krillin yawned, and stretched his arms out. The humming of the surrounding computers was having an almost hypnotic effect on the fighter. Once his thirst for air had been satiated Krillin reached for the screwdriver once more, but gasped as his careless hand brushed a screw from the table. The tiny metal object plummeted to the ground and skittered across the tiled floor, ringing happily as it made its bid for freedom.

"Not so fast little guy," Krillin called as he leapt from the stool he pulled over to the work table, and pursued the screw across the room. Reaching out with both hands he prepared to make the catch. "I've got you now..."

Suddenly there was a flash of light, and a sharp pain spread across the fighter's head. Yelping and falling back onto his hind quarters, Krillin clasped his hands across his head and grimaced with discomfort. The pain quickly subsided though, and he opened his dewy eyes just in time to see the little screw disappear beneath a large computer console, the front panel of which bore a distinctly head-shaped dent.

"Oh man," Krillin lamented.

Standing up, he sighed and rubbed his still slightly throbbing head. He then turned back to the table. There lay 18's components in no particular order, some on the table, others hanging off, and a few scattered about the floor below.

Slowly and despairingly, Krillin trudged back to the table and dumped himself back onto the stool. Leaning forwards he strained his eyes at the schematic that lay partially buried beneath a heap of 18's mechanical innards. But it was to no avail. The dim light and his tired eyes conspired to prevent him from reading what little of the blueprints he could understand.

"This is hopeless," he sighed. "I can't repair 18. I can't even work out how to use the darned light fittings in this place."

What had begun as an ill advised attempt to learn more about his girlfriend had quickly developed into one of the worst experiences of his life. Krillin had fought - and been killed by - hell's fiercest demons, and he had taken on - and been killed by - maniacal alien warlords, but none of that compared to this. The agony; the horror; the sheer soul-crushing despair were proving just too much for the crestfallen fighter. And that was just from dealing with Bulma. But he had to carry on, and carry on he would. Not for Bulma's sake, and not for his own, but for 18. She deserved a man who new what she needed and could provide her with just that.

Krillin's self-pity was interrupted by a shrill rapping on the door, which in turn was followed by an equally shrill voice.

"Hello, Krillin? Are you in there?"

Krillin sighed. He recognised that voice.

"I really don't need this right now," he said despairingly.

There was some angry muttering, and then a startled gasp as the lab door clunked into motion. The barrier rose into the wall, revealing Chi Chi with a young Gohan at her side and the sleeping baby Goten in her arms.

"I don't know," Chi Chi said, shaking her head disapprovingly. "Why does Bulma have to make everything so difficult to use?"

"Beats me, Mom," Replied Gohan, his voice carrying the monotonous tone of a conditioned response. This was a sure sign that he was practising a fine art that only he and his father had ever perfected - tuning out Chi Chi.

"Oh, hi there Chi Chi," said Krillin, almost having to power up in order to force a smile onto his face. "Hey there, Gohan. What a surprise."

"Hey, Krillin," Gohan called back.

"Hello, Krillin," Chi Chi replied also, cutting off Gohan as he had opened his mouth to speak again. "Bulma said we'd find you back here."

"Is that right?" Krillin said. Suddenly, it was all becoming clear.

"Yes. She said you were working on something interesting, so I thought I'd come and see how you were doing."

Though Krillin was a little exasperated by Chi Chi's busy-body nature, he could understand it. In the end, the poor woman was a pitiable character for whom being widowed was fast becoming a frequent and annoying inconvenience. Worse yet, it seemed that every time Goku made a bolt the next dimension he left Chi Chi with yet another mouth to feed and to raise on her own. All this, heaped on the shoulders of a woman who was highly strung at the best of times. It was hardly surprising that she often seemed more concerned with other people's business than her own.

"So, what are you up to?" she asked, craning her neck at the far side of the lab.

Krillin sighed. "Come on over and I'll show you."

Chi Chi did not need asking twice. Quickly she shuffled across the room to see what was going on. Upon arriving she peered over Krillin's shoulder and began to scan around the table.

"So, um…" Krillin dithered, uncomfortable with Chi Chi's proximity. "As you can see, I'm, uh, just performing some routine maintenance for 18. You know, tighten a screw here, oil a hinge there…"

"Oh, so this is 18?" Chi Chi asked.

Krillin's eyes narrowed. He wasn't sure he liked the tone of Chi Chi's voice, as it had lightened significantly upon her hearing that it was 18 that lay dismantled before her. Apparently she had yet to get over the whole programmed-to-kill-Goku thing.

"Yes," Krillin replied cautiously.

"And you're just making some repairs?"

"Ye-e-s…"

"So, while you make those repairs, you could just… say… make a few modifications? Just to make her … oh, I don't know… a little less… antisocial?"

"No!" Krillin exclaimed. "I can't mess with her programming. That'd be wrong. And besides,18's okay now. She promised she was going to _stop_ being a sociopath."

"Okay, okay," Chi Chi placated him. "I was just asking." Then, carefully shifting the napping Goten onto her hip, she returned her attention to the contents of the tabletop. "So," she began, picking up a small metal coil. "What does this do?"

Krillin plucked it from between her fingers. "Please don't touch anything," he pleaded. "It's all very delicate and very important." Or at least, he thought it might be.

Chi Chi huffed indignantly. "Fine," she said. "But I don't know why you're being so uptight."

Krillin was sure there was an old saying that applied here; something about pots and kettles, but he couldn't quite recall the whole thing.

"Come on Gohan, let's go. I think we'd better leave Krillin to his work."

Gohan wasn't paying attention.

"Come along, Gohan."

"Mom," Gohan said pensively, and then pointed to something on the floor. "What's that?"

"What's wha…" Chi Chi stopped mid-sentence and gasped in horror, her face flushing bright red. Hurriedly, she turned her back and placed her free hand over Gohan's eyes.

"Hey," the young half-Saiyan barked.

Krillin looked down at the floor to see what all the commotion was about, only to find some rather _sensitive_ components lying exposed near the base of his stool. He hastily dismounted his perch and began to try and cover up the offending bits-and-pieces using what little remained of 18's clothes.

"Krillin, how could you," Chi Chi complained. "Leaving such things out where impressionable young minds can see them. You should be ashamed of yourself!"

Evidently, someone had yet to be given 'the talk'.

She then began to march back to the door, gasping and muttering with outrage as she went. Gohan made some confused protests, but there was nothing that could stand in the way of an offended Chi Chi. The family soon disappeared into the outside world, and the door shut behind them.

Krillin sighed deeply, and fell to the ground in a seated position with his back against the base of the table. He sat there for a moment and contemplated his situation. Then, realising that thinking about it would only depress him more he lifted himself to his feet and returned to the stool.

As he looked across the table filled with various anonymous components, his eyes came into contact with those of 18's disembodied head.

"So, what do you think I should do?" he asked. He paused for the reply, then said, "No, me either." With that, he allowed his head to fall into his folded arms. "This couldn't possibly get any worse."

----------

Tune in next time to see things get worse!


	3. Chapter 3

Krillin sifted through 18's hair, like a chimp in search of parasites.

"Come on, I know it's in here somewhere," he muttered to himself. Suddenly he came across what he had been looking for. Carefully, he raised the screw driver in his free hand and used it to depress a small button in the back of 18's head. This caused a small panel to flick up with an urgent click, revealing an impossibly-convoluted maze of circuitry beneath.

Krillin sat back and looked at the implement in his hand. "I think I'm gonna need a smaller screwdriver."

This, his latest idea was to try and reanimate 18's head. His reasoning had been that there couldn't be anyone better qualified to aid him with the repairs than 18 herself, thus negating the need to ask Bulma's help. Whether or not this reasoning was sound mattered little to Krillin; all that mattered was that it was reasoning, and that was enough for him.

Krillin shook his weary head, blinked his blurring eyes, and then consulted the blueprints once again. Once the words and images had ceased to swim about the page he was able to pick out the information he needed and set work. With an unsteady hand, he picked up the smallest screwdriver he could comfortably see from the pile of tools he had accumulated, and moved it towards the open panel. This was made difficult by the fact that his vision was beginning to double slightly. So, in much the same way as he had learned to do when fighting, he simply aimed straight down the middle. The head of the screwdriver came to rest in the groove, and Krillin slowly began to turn it clockwise.

With a yelp of fright, Krillin toppled from the stool. The once-lifeless circuits had suddenly sparked into life with a cascade of tiny lights, accompanied by a shrill buzz of static that emanated from 18's now open mouth.

Krillin crawled up to the table and peered nervously over the edge. Faced with the surreal image of 18's hissing head, he tentatively seated himself and reinserted the screwdriver. Slowly, carefully, he turned the screw.

Again Krillin found himself on his back as he was startled by a yet another strange occurrence. This time, 18's head had begun to speak. Only, it wasn't the android's voice.

"Now, add a table spoon of salt and stir until the mixture becomes light and fluffy," spoke the soft voice of an elderly woman from between 18's miming lips.

"Wha..?" Krillin gaped in astonishment.

It appeared that his tinkering had somehow caused 18's speech circuitry to tune in to a local radio station. The cooking instructions kept coming until Krillin finally worked up the nerve to try his luck a third time.

"… place the bowl in an oven at 225… hamsters were released onto the streets of South City today in… celebration of the … police probing into… Benito Mussolini's… ascending colon… and now we pass over to… Zinadine Zidane. Zidane a Figo. Figo a Beckham. Beckham cruza la bola en el area. ¡Oh, Molina deja lo caer! La bola cae a Raul… ¡Gooaal! ¡Raul! ¡Gooooooaaaaaal!"

Krillin turned to the screw back to its original position, and then allowed his head to fall onto the tabletop with a thump.

"This is hopeless," he lamented.

Then, just as Krillin began to think things couldn't get any worse, they did.

"What's going on in here?" came an abrasive voice.

Krillin raised his head, and then allowed it to fall back onto the table. "Why me?" he whined.

Vegeta had entered the room unnoticed and, as always, seemed to be having trouble with the stick that had long been lodged were only proctologists dare venture.

"I'm trying to get some training done outside, and all I can hear is some moron molesting his radio dial," he snarled.

"Go away," Krillin mumbled into the table.

"What was that?" Vegeta asked as he stepped up alongside. His attention then turned to the bits of 18 that were scattered across the table. "What happened here," he smirked. "Did that blow-up doll you call a girlfriend spring a leak?"

"Hey, don't call her that!" Krillin protested, but Vegeta wasn't listening.

The Saiyan prince began to sort through the assortment of components before him. Krillin reached out to try and stop him, but Vegeta simply placed an index finger against the fighter's head and gave a gentle push, sending him flying from his stool.

Krillin picked himself up off the floor in time to see Vegeta pluck a pair of large metal fasteners from the table. Slowly he rolled the hexagonal objects around his palm, contemplating them as if they held some hidden truth. Then he began to smile to himself. The smile evolved into chuckle, and before long became a whole-hearted belly-laugh.

Krillin sighed. He knew he would regret asking, but he did anyway. "What's so funny, Vegeta?"

Vegeta paused, just long enough to reply, "You must be the only Earth-man on this godforsaken planet whose woman has bigger nuts than he does." With that, he descended back into laughter.

"Ha ha, Vegeta," Krillin groaned. "You're a regular comedian. Why don't you take your act on the road?"

Again, Vegeta seemed unconcerned by Krillin's disrespectful tone, and continued to sift through 18's components in search of some other source of amusements.

"Vegeta!" there came a sudden and quite disagreeable cry.

Krillin, still a little disoriented from his experience thus far, raised his hands to his mouth to make sure it wasn't his own voice he had heard. It wasn't his voice, but all that was needed was a brief glance at Vegeta's expression to work at to whom it really belonged. Krillin knew of only two creatures in all the dimensions that had been able to put that look on Vegeta's face. Sadly, Frieza was dead, so that left only Bulma.

"Vegeta," Bulma said again as she stormed into the lab. "I called you for dinner half an hour ago. Where have you been?"

"I've been training," Vegeta replied. "And besides, what business is it of yours?"

"It's my business because for some bizarre reason I decided it would be a good idea to marry you!"

"Oh, is that how it is? Well then, the next time some mutant-alien-android-clone monster attacks the Earth, don't come crying to me!"

"Don't give me that crap, mister. If you don't get back in that house right now I'm feeding your dinner to the dinosaur!"

Vegeta gritted his teeth and growled in defiance, but as with his former master compliance was mandatory. So the pouting Saiyan left the lab, hands pocketed and mumbling under his breath as he went.

Krillin hauled himself to his feet, buoyed slightly by the unexpected ally he had gained.

Meanwhile, Bulma was surveying the damage. "Geez Krillin," she said softly. "You really did a number on 18. Maybe we should call _you_ the next time an android-clone-monster thingy shows up."

Krillin sighed. Everyone seemed to be scoring off him today.

Bulma turned to face him, and gasped with shock. "Woah, you look even worse than 18," she observed. "Listen Krillin, I know you want to help out your girlfriend, and I respect that, but this obviously isn't doing either of you any good. Maybe I should… uh, Krillin? What's that on your head?"

Krillin frowned quizzically, and raised his hands to his scalp. "What's what on my…" He stopped mid-sentence as his hands brushed across a strange, bristly texture.

Slowly, a grimace began to crawl across the fighter's face as his weary mind slid into a state of panic.

"Agh!" he yelled, "Get it off me!" With that Krillin began to sprint around in circles, batting his hands against his head and screaming repeatedly, "Get it off! Get it off! Get it off!"

After watching a minute or so of this amusing, though slightly disturbing display, Bulma came to a realisation. "Krillin," she said, squinting at him in the pale light. "I think… I think it's… hair."

At this Krillin ceased his cries for help, and slowed to a standstill. He placed his hands against the top of his head and cautiously began to move them around. Sure enough, this strange new growth felt very much like the beginnings of a full head of hair.

"What the…" he muttered in astonishment.

"Wow Krillin," Bulma grinned. "That's wild. I always thought that you were just bald."

"I was, sort of," Krillin informed her as he continued to familiarise himself with the new do. "I used to wax it regularly, but then it just kind of stopped growing back, until now anyway."

"Weird," Bulma observed. "Maybe it's from the stress of trying to repair 18 yourself. Kind of like the opposite of stress-related baldness."

"Far out," Krillin said as he slowly came round to the idea of having his hair restored to him.

"Listen, Krillin. I know you must pretty happy that you're not a cue ball anymore, but still, this is kind of worrying. If this job is causing you so much stress that it's affecting you physically, then I think maybe it's time you handed over to a professional."

Krillin paused his touching session, and absently considered her offer. Just as he was about to accept, his mind awoke to the obvious Gambit that Bulma was playing. Truly it had been a shrewd move on her part, but Krillin would not be fooled so easily.

"No, no, no," Krillin waved the offer away and, as before, began to shepherd Bulma towards the door. "I've got everything under control. Bye-bye now."

Bulma raised a finger to speak. "But…"

And with that, Krillin shoved her out of the lab and quickly lowered the door behind her.

He sighed with relief, and relaxed back into exhaustion. With Bulma's advice silenced and that of hindsight now ringing in his ear, Krillin began to think that maybe, just maybe, it would have been a good idea to let Bulma take over. Nonetheless, he still felt some urge to finish the job he had started, and to show 18 that he could be more than just a minor annoyance to her – a pest neither small enough to ignore, nor large enough to have a restraining order taken out against. Also, he was more than a little embarrassed to let Bulma see the full extent of his _repairs_.

Wearily he went back to his work station. Upon arriving he found the contents of the table, once ordered as best the fighter could manage, littered about the place with no discernible arrangement - the fruit of Vegeta's efforts. With a growl of annoyance, Krillin set about restoring order.

"That Vegeta," he muttered angrily. "Why, if I were a thousand times stronger I'd…"

----------

Krillin's shook his head. As he did so the lights that adorned the walls of the lab left trails across his field of vision, and his head swam as if his mind was swelling to a size too great for his skull to contain. Blinking hard, he did his best to hang on to consciousness for just a little longer.

Tentatively he reached out and placed his hands against the blueprints.

"Stop spinning already," he muttered as he put his wait against the paper.

Suddenly, one of his hands slid from its purchase causing his body to fall onto the table.

"Ow…" he whined as his head struck the surface. In his stupefied state Krillin couldn't be sure whether it did in fact hurt, but he felt he should say it all the same.

Then the stool slid from beneath him, sending him crashing to the ground.

"Ow…"

_That_ hurt.

After a time, Krillin righted the stool and dragged his limp carcass back on to the seat.

"Now," he said distantly, his head rolling around slightly on his neck. "Where was I? Oh, yeah."

Slowly he reached out, pausing periodically to steady himself and picked up a couple of bits of metal. He didn't know what they were, but the shapes were pretty. Then, with a sigh of satisfaction he began to slowly and rhythmically beat the components together.

"That sounds nice," he grinned at the cheerful ringing that filled the lab.

Krillin continued with this for some minutes, but soon the sleepy smile began to drain from his face. Eventually he dropped his makeshift instruments on the table, and allowed his face to fall into his hands.

"Oh, who am I kidding," he mumbled into his palms. "I can't do this." Looking up through dewy eyes, he surveyed the chaos that lay before him. "What a mess. I doubt even Bulma can do anything for her now. What have I done? What have I done…"

Krillin raised a hand a wiped a tear from his eye. Then, he reached out and picked up 18's severed head.

"I'm sorry 18," he whimpered. "All I wanted to do was get to know you a little better, but all I've done is mess everything up. That's all I ever do. You deserve better than this. You deserve better than me." Krillin placed 18 back on the table. "I'm so sorry," he muttered. "I'm just so… tired…"

Krillin yawned. His eyelids, weighed down with fatigue and regret, fell across his tearful eyes as the soft hum of the computer cooling fans lulled him into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

"Krillin…" a gentle voice called out from nowhere.

Krillin's consciousness fumbled through the darkness to find its source.

"Krillin…" the voice called once more.

Slowly, Krillin began to emerge from his slumber. Pulling his lead-like eyelids up as best he could, he called back from his sleepy stupor, "…Mommy?"

"Krillin!" the voice yelled.

With that, the last of the barrier that separated Krillin's mind from the world beyond was shattered, and the fighter was dragged kicking and screaming back to reality.

And he fell off the stool.

"Whoops," said Bulma. "Sorry if I scared you there, Krillin. But seriously, all that falling over can't be good for you. You should consider investing in a booster seat or something."

Krillin hauled himself up and looked to the door. There was stood Bulma, accompanied by a throng of figures that that he could ill discern from the bright sunlight that was pouring into the lab. All began to approach.

As the group drew closer and his eyes adjusted to the light, Krillin could begin to recognise their faces. Bulma was flanked on her right by Vegeta, Dr Briefs and Mrs Briefs, and on her left by Yamcha and Chi Chi, the latter of whom still had her back turned.

"Hi guys," Krillin said distantly. "What are you all doing here?"

"Well, to be honest, we were all kind of worried about you," Bulma confessed. "Not to mention about 18. I mean, you guys have been in here for almost two days now."

Krillin's eyes widened with surprise. "Two days?"

"That's right," Chi Chi interceded, back still turned. "It's just not healthy for someone to spend so long locked away, working in a dark room."

"Yeah, just ask Gohan." muttered Vegeta, an action that earned him a sharp elbow in the arm from his spouse.

"I see." Krillin looked down at the ground dejectedly. "I suppose you'll be wanting your lab back now, huh?"

"Yeah, but there are a couple of other things I'd like to take care of first," replied Bulma. "For a start, there's someone here who I think owes you an apology."

Taking his cue, Yamcha stepped forwards. "Hi there, Krillin," he said, one hand pocketed and the other rubbing the back of his head. "Listen buddy, I'm sorry about what I said. I mean about you and 18. I didn't mean anything by it, and if I'd known for a second what would happen I'd…"

"It's not your fault," said Krillin, smiling briefly. "I shouldn't have let it get to me. Too much lemonade, I guess."

"Yeah, well all the same, I'm sorry. Friends?"

Krillin smiled. "Yeah."

"Aw, isn't that sweet," Vegeta smirked. "Maybe _you_ two should go on a date."

"I don't know why you're laughing," Bulma scolded. "It's your turn to apologise next."

"What?!"

"You heard me!"

"I will do no such thing!"

"You'll do what I tell you and like it, buster!"

"I am a Saiyan Prince! I take orders from no one!"

"Well then your highness, I guess you're one Saiyan prince who can forget about that upgrade to his gravity training chamber!"

Vegeta stopped in his tracks. Frowning furiously he engaged Bulma in a stare off, but there was only ever going to be one winner. Breaking eye contact with his wife, Vegeta hissed through gritted teeth, "I'm sorry."

"What was that?" asked Bulma.

"I said… I'm sorry."

"I can't hear you!"

"I'm sorry, damn it!" Vegeta roared. "There, are you happy now?" With that, the emasculated prince turned to join Chi Chi in staring out of the open door.

"Oh Krillin," Mrs Briefs said with a sad sniff. "I can't help but feel that this is my all fault. If only I'd have minded my own business."

"There there, dear," said Dr Briefs, wrapping a comforting arm around his wife as she steadily descended into tears. "It's not your fault. How were you to know that Krillin was prone to bouts of dangerously obsessive behaviour?"

"Yeah, Mrs Briefs. It's not your fault," Krillin added, echoing at least half of the doctor's sentiment. "Listen everyone, it's really nice of you to try and make me feel better, but it's not me that needs fixing up." Krillin looked over his shoulder to the pile of scrap that was once his love interest.

"Oh yeah," Bulma said nonchalantly. "I almost forgot."

"Almost forgot?!" Barked Krillin as Bulma strolled casually to the table.

"Now let's see here," Bulma mused, surveying the wreckage. "Ah here we go." She picked up the screwdriver Krillin had been using earlier in one hand and 18's head in the other, and began to tinker with the dial that had caused the little fighter so much consternation. "Let me tell you Krillin, it's a good job you didn't get very far with the dismantling process otherwise we could have had a real mess on our hands."

Krillin stood aghast. "Not very far?" he paraphrased, looking down at what had appeared to be the irreparably dismembered remains of android 18. "But I thought… I mean it looked like… you mean, I was getting stressed out over nothing?"

"Oh, there we go," chirped Bulma as 18's head briefly buzzed with static as it had done before.

This time however, the buzz quickly died away. A couple of seconds passed in silence, and then something happened that made Krillin's heart skip with both shock and joy. 18 blinked; first once, then twice, and then slowly her batting eyelids fell into a natural rhythm. All the while, the life that had deserted the android's face was filtering back from wherever it had been stored within her labyrinthine circuitry. Finally, she spoke.

"Wwwhere am I," she asked distantly, her voice hesitant and tinny.

Krillin could just about hear Yamcha's horrified utterance of, "Gross…" followed closely by Vegeta's best Beavis and Butthead impression. "Heh heh, cool…"

"You're in the lab, 18," Bulma replied, replacing the talking head upon the table. "You've just been reactivated after a little down time."

"Down timmme…" the android echoed as her stalling CPU processed the information. "Wwwhat happennned?"

Bulma grimaced. "Well, do you remember the trouble you were having with some of your shoulder servos?"

18 paused, before replying in an increasingly normal voice. "Yes."

"And do you remember how we discussed doing some maintenance on your infrastructure?"

"…yes."

"And uh, how about when we agreed that we should let Krillin have a crack at it?" This question was met with a telling silence. "Well… um, it didn't quite go as well as we might have liked."

18's eyes widened, revealing her rapidly dilating and contracting pupils as her light receptors began auto-calibration. "Why, what went wrong?"

Bulma broke eye contact and tugged nervously at the neck of her dressed. "Oh nothing, nothing… nothing too serious. Uh…anyway, I don't think we should discuss that just now."

18's attention turned to the throng of people stood before her. "What are you all staring at?"

Everyone looked away except for Vegeta, who was enjoying the impromptu puppet show, and Chi Chi, who hadn't seen any of what was going on anyway. A moment passed, and then Bulma's mother stepped forwards.

"Um, hello dear," she said tentatively. "You look, well. I mean, under the circumstances. Um, how do you feel?"

18 thought for a moment. "A little light headed." She replied. Then her eyes narrowed. "Why all this sudden concern for my well being? What is going…" At that moment 18's eyes became adjusted, and fell upon the debris that surrounded her disembodied cranium. There was a deafening silence.

Krillin began to shrink away. "Uh oh…"

"Krillin," said 18 in an unsettlingly even tone. "What have you done to me?"

Krillin swallowed hard. "Er, well I… I… I was only trying to help."

18's brow furrowed. "Consider yourself lucky I'm in pieces, because when I get my hands on you…"

"Allow me," Vegeta grinned, plucking one of the aforementioned appendages from the floor and turning ominously towards Krillin.

"Vegeta, put that down," scolded Bulma, and then looked to 18. "You know, you shouldn't be so hard on Krillin. This has been difficult for him too you know."

"My heart bleeds," 18 sneered. "I should know. It's sat right in front of me."

"Hey now, don't be like that. In a couple of hours I can have you up and running and as good as new. If this whole sad affair has proved anything, it's that Krillin's problems are going to take more than a spanner and a squirt of oil to fix."

"Gee, thanks," Krillin muttered.

18 looked away pensively. "I suppose…" she conceded, but then looked at Krillin with a stare that could have pierced sheet steel. "Just don't expect a thank you note."

Krillin looked at his feet. He could understand 18's chagrin. She had trusted him after all, and he had shattered that trust in spectacular fashion. The others had been kind to try and displace some of the blame, but he was an adult - in all but height - and could take responsibility for his own actions.

"I'm really sorry, 18," said Krillin. "I guess I'm not cut out for this sort of stuff. I mean being a scientist… or your boyfriend." He then gave a sad smile. "But hey, I'm sure Bulma knows lots of real smart guys that are better suited to a girl like you, who can give you what you need."

"You should try the Yellow Pages," Vegeta chuckled. "It has a whole section dedicated to TV repair men."

"Vegeta!" Bulma hissed under her breath, so as not to further disrupt the heart rending scene.

"Anyway, I'll see myself out," Krillin said. "See you around. I guess."

Krillin turned and began a slow, despairing trudge to the door.

Bulma's mother dabbed a tissue in the corner of her right eye. "This is so sad," she said.

"I know," Dr Briefs sniffed. "It's better than my soaps."

"You said it, Doc," sniffled Yamcha.

Bulma looked down at 18, who was watching dispassionately as Krillin slinked away. "So you're just going to let him go?" she asked.

"No," 18 said coolly. "I was actually just about run after him to proclaim my undying love. Oh wait, I'm just a head!"

"You know what I mean," Bulma replied quietly, trying not to alert Krillin to their conversation. "He might have taken you apart, but he only did it because he cared."

"That's very sweet. I'll remember to have them carve that on _your_ headstone."

"Everyone's a comedian today," Bulma lamented. "Alright then Miss Smartass, let me put it like this. You're going to live for a very long time, and though you may not think so now, eventually you're going to want some companionship. And if you think it's difficult for a strong woman to find a guy who won't get scared away, then imagine how tough it'll be to hold down the relationship when Mr Right finds out you're a killer android programmed to conquer the Earth."

18 glared intensely at the table top beneath her.

Bulma looked over at Krillin. "There's a man who knows what you are, who's seen what you can do, but loves you anyway." Bulma then sighed, and laughed to herself, "I've been there…" before continuing. "Any way you slice it, you'd have to be pretty dum to let a guy like that slip through your fingers."

18 shot her an angry glance.

Bulma's face reddened slightly, "Oh, sorry."

Krillin stopped at the door, and sighed deeply. "I should have known I'd screw it up. Guys like me never get girls like her." And with that, he took his first step back into the great, lonely world.

"Krillin," 18 called after him.

The fighter's eyes widened with surprise. Stopping, he turned and looked back over his shoulder.

"Krillin, I… I… appreciate your efforts," 18 continued, with each word sticking in what remained of her throat. "It was very… _kind_ of you to try and… help."

Krillin took a moment to absorb the android's words. Then, a smile began to creep across his face. "So… you're not mad?"

18 meditated on the question. Then, after a glare of encouragement from Bulma, replied, "No… I suppose not."

"So you're not going to kill me when you're repaired?"

Bulma gave 18 another silent reminder of who would be wielding the screwdriver.

"No," 18 sighed.

"So we're still…"

"Yes, yes. Just please, leave me to be repaired _properly_."

Krillin's smile burst into a broad grin.

"There now," Bulma said, beaming with pride at her latest quick-fix. "Was that _so_ hard?"

18 looked up at her disdainfully. "Just get the ratchets," she said. "And make sure they're metric."

Krillin breathed a deep sigh of relief. It seemed that his relationship with 18 was more durable than he had thought. With his confidence galvanised, he called across to18, "Well, I'm glad everything is okay between us, though I still feel a little guilty about this whole thing. Hey, how about I help Bulma out with the repairs?"

"No!" Both women cried out in horror. Composing herself, Bulma added, "Er, maybe you should go and get something to eat. You've been cooped up in here for an awful long time y'know."

"Oh, okay," Krillin relented.

"Aw, don't worry about it buddy," Yamcha said, putting an arm around Krillin's shoulder. "Hey, how about I help you come up with some other way to make it up to 18?"

"Oh, no you don't," Bulma nipped the ill-conceived idea in the bud. "I think we've had just about enough advice out of you for one lifetime, Dr Phil."

Yamcha gave a chuckle of embarrassment. "Right," he said.

"Okay, everyone out," Bulma called. "I've got work to do."

And with that, the throng of onlookers marched from the lab to return to their everyday business.

In reality, Krillin wasn't too bothered that his offer of assistance had been turned down. He was just glad that his momentary and oh-so-rare lapse in judgement hadn't destroyed his chances with 18. Perhaps there was something to be said for those ol' Krillin moves after all. Sure, 18 still seemed reluctant to take things further, but if the relationship could withstand this escapade, it could weather anything.

With his confidence restored and the sun on his face, Krillin smiled contentedly to himself. "She'll come around," he said quietly. "It's just a matter of time."

THE END

----------

Bulma's mother dabbed a tissue in the corner of her right eye. "I love a happy ending," she said.

"Me to," Dr Briefs sniffed. "It's better than my soaps."

"You said it, Doc," sniffled Yamcha.

"Oh, please," Vegeta sneered. "I'm beginning to remember why I liked destroying planets like this one."

----------

Okay, it's the end for real this time. Um… you can go home now.

Oh, and if there's anything wrong with the Spanish, feel free to correct me. Okay, it's now this is _definitely_ the end.


End file.
